


Drabbles

by Szajnie



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Multi, compilation characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szajnie/pseuds/Szajnie
Summary: A collection of my one-shots and drabbles, some old, some new. Mostly Cloti centered, but not limited to them.





	1. Stars

PROMPT: Kingdom Hearts II, Cloud/Tifa: memories— he didn’t know why he had other memories of he and Tifa; all he knew was that they were meant to be together.

* * *

 

He remembered soft touches and patient smiles. He remembered wide eyes and a terrible ache. He remembered falling and being caught.  
  
He remembers stars.  
  
He remembered they were important.  
  
Cloud rubbed his forehead with the hard press of two fingers and stared up at the inky black emptiness over his head. It wasn't always like that, he thought. The sky wasn't always barren, but couldn't say _how_ he knew that to be true. He had no answer for that certainty anymore than he knew the answer to why he had memories of Tifa that were so painfully familiar they felt like part of him, and yet...they weren't of here, or of now, or of any place he could willfully recall.  
  
She was his light. That much he _knew_. She had followed and found and saved him, and he had run from her. Like a coward.  
  
But he had to run, because to look at her _hurt_. Physically. It clenched his teeth and made his heart hammer and he wanted-- _wanted_ \--so many things, so much more than her light, and understood none of it.  
  
He wondered if she understood. Did she know? Was the answer somewhere in her smile? The one that haunted his dreams.  
  
Could she tell him why his heart hurt when he saw flame, or why he hated-- _hated_ \-- Sephiroth so damn much, or why he was always afraid of losing everything?  
  
Would she know why he knew that she smelled of lavender and tasted of cinnamon? Could she tell him how he knew the sound of his name on her voice, broken, laughing, crying... Would she know why she scared him so much? Why he believed, with his whole heart, that he was meant to be with her.  
  
Just not here. Not now. And that...broke something in him.  
  
Sighing against the futility of going over these same thoughts and questions over and over, Cloud laid back on his bedroll and stared up into inky black. As sleep curled up beside him, he thought of dark eyes and pale skin and wondered: did she remember stars?


	2. The World Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Final Fantasy VII: Tifa/Cloud “Holy Failed, and they only they have 24 hours to live.”

The world outside was chaos.   
  
Windows busted from shops and stores, fires and sirens, screams of the panicked and the sobs of the grief stricken. The beaches were empty and the cobbled streets were literally littered with people crying and desperate to get away, to get home. But ships and flights were cancelled and those people left here, were stuck here.   
  
It was a sad sight and it made Tifa's chest ache, but the ache only lasted until a warm hand circled her wrist, tugged her closer and blue eyes found hers. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle. "Nothing we can do for them. Come on."   
  
Tifa followed, her fingers now laced between his. He smiled at her over his shoulder and since it was such a rare, beautiful, thing she forgot everything around her and smiled back.   
  
Cloud stopped at an unattended vending stand and opened the cooler to snag a couple of bottles of ridiculously expensive Icicle Inn imported water and a bucket of ice. Then, as an afterthought snatched one of the blooming flowers used as decoration on the cart and tucked it behind her ear. Blushing, she leaned her head into his shoulder and they walked once more.  
  
The bungalow was shaded and cool when they got inside, and Tifa let out a soft sigh of relief. It felt good. Behind her Cloud made a soft grunt--probably amusement--and settled his hands on her shoulders, his lips on the nape of her neck.  
  
She turned in his arms, her hands moving along his chest and shoulders until her fingers grooved tunnels into his thick spikes.   
  
His eyes were tender, his expression soft, and he looked so young when he confessed, "I always planned on bringing you here."  
  
Her lips quirked, her stomach flipped, and she tilted her head. "I was always curious as to why you bought the place."  
  
He nuzzled the spot below her ear. "I knew...before I _knew,_ " he said. And to anyone else that wouldn't have made sense, but she understood. She always understood.  
  
"It's a nice honeymoon present," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, to hold him close.   
  
"I'm glad you said yes," he murmured and for the first time since they'd emerged from the Northern Crater, his voice seemed heavy.  
  
Like she would have said anything else, she thought.   
  
Cloud had asked her after they realized that Holy had failed. Meteor was coming and there was nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable end. At first, she had thought he was kidding, but when he'd motioned to Cid standing at the cockpit wheel, she realized he was serious.   
  
Barret had given her away and Yuffie and Cait had wept like babies. Vincent had wished them a "lifetime of happiness", and as jokes went, it was morbid--and pretty damn funny. Nanaki had given her four beads from his mane. They were for happiness, courage, wisdom, and love.   
  
She touched them now, braided into her hair. Seeing the motion, Cloud lifted his fingers to her cheek. "They're okay," he said.   
  
"I know." And they were. As okay as they could be, she supposed. Saying goodbye had been harder than she'd ever imagined it could be, but everyone was where they were supposed to be. Nanaki was back with Bugen in Cosmo Canyon and Yuffie was in Wutai (probably stealing all the materia from the vault), Cid was with Shera, Vincent had taken off to wherever Vincent went, and Barret had taken Cait to Kalm. To Marlene.   
  
Tifa had cried when she'd said goodbye to Barret, and he'd cried also, but when he had whispered to her: "Ain't no getting off this train," she knew that he'd be okay. And he'd make it okay for Marlene, too.   
  
So they'd parted. Defeated heroes of the Planet to find their last moments of happiness.   
  
Cloud had offered to take her to Nibleheim. She had refused.   
  
Nibleheim held no happy memories for them, although thinking about the place actually helped her deal with the events happening now. For two people that had witnessed the most horrible of atrocities and endured perversions that remained unspoken, the fiery end of the world seemed almost par for the course.   
  
So they came here. To Costa Del Sol with its sunshine and beaches and ocean views. To where the sky was tinted pink but not blanketed red. To where, within minutes of entering the bungalow, clothing became a non-option.   
  
The world outside was quaking.  
  
But her world consisted of strong arms and endless blue and the slow burn of skin on skin. The whisper of her name against her pulse, the tug of a hand in her hair and the sharp crest of pleasure with each movement.  
  
Her world was not crumbling beneath oppressive gravity, but soaring and breaking in ways that filled her heart. He kissed her like they had forever. Whatever eloquence Cloud lacked in words, he made up for in touch.   
  
His hands whispered how he adored her, his mouth stated claim on her skin, and his eyes declared unconditional love, devotion, and faith.   
  
The world outside trembled and the ocean roared.   
  
Her world remained strong and steady and sky blue.   
  
He gripped her hips and rocked into her while she kissed his mouth, his ears, his stubborn jaw. He teased and joked and rolled them around the bed, playful in a way she'd not known he could be. She wrapped herself around him, and wrapped him securely in her heart.  
  
They drank water and made love.   
  
They laughed and touched and kissed.  
  
The world outside screamed.  
  
She sighed his name.  
  
Hours would never be enough; a lifetime--ten thousand lifetimes--would never be enough, but it was what they had and they made every minute count. There were no tears. He kissed them all away before they could begin.  
  
No regrets.   
  
They'd tried. They'd failed in saving the planet, but in doing so they had succeeded in something else. Something fleeting and precious and worth fighting and dying for all over again.   
  
The world outside began to fall and the waves crushed and the ground broke.  
  
"I'll find you," she whispered, cupping his face and holding onto her endless sky.   
  
He smiled, pulled her close and secured her against him. "You won't have to," he whispered.  
  
The world outside exploded.


	3. Untitled

There were times that she hated him for his ability to crumble her defenses and turn her into a quivering mass of flesh and responses.   
  
Like now.  
  
Hadn't she been angry a minute ago? she wondered, even as her head tilted back and a sigh left her lips as his tongue—hot and wet—slid into the dip of her collar bone. Hadn't she been _justifiably_ upset over...what again?   
  
She couldn't think when he did _that_ , and it became even more of a task than usual when his fingers—free of their leather confines—traced along her spine to the fastens of her bra.  
  
"Cloud," she said—too soft to really be a word. More like air. His name, her air... She shook her head, tried again. This time she earned a soft grunt and she saw his brows twitch from between the valley of her breasts.   
  
She tugged on his blond spikes, gentle, but insistent. Finally, scorching blue fire blinked up at her from behind the fringe and he waited—silent, expectant, _impatient._  
  
Staring into his eyes she forgot what it was that she had planned to say.   
  
His lip arched, just a bit, just at the corner, in an eerie resemblance of what Barret had dubbed his 'ass-kicking smirk'. It was his victory assured face, and for some reason it didn't irritate her as much as it probably should.   
  
Maybe because even though his eyes were on hers, his hands had continued their task and his warm palms were distracting her, her shirt shucked up under her chin.  
  
She gasped a little, arched, and bit her lip when his teeth grazed.  
  
"Tifa?" he addressed her, his voice teasing. He lowered his head, mouth open, to hover above her pert nipple. "Was there something you wanted to say?"  
  
 _Okay, focus, Lockhart._ What was she was pissed at again?   
  
"It's been two weeks, and unless it's life or death, I'd rather not be talking," he added.   
  
_Oh, yes, that._  
  
She scooted back, adjusted her shirt and earned herself a scowl. "You were only supposed to be gone three days," she reminded him.   
  
"Hn." He plucked the hem of her top, eyes still smoldering. "Complications came up."  
  
"I understand that--"  
  
"Good." He crawled over her, his lips making their way to her throat. With her earlobe tucked gently between his teeth, he asked, "Then what's the problem?"  
  
"You should have," _yes, right there_ , "called."  
  
He hummed against her pulse. "Reeve sent word, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes, but that's hardly the same...we talked about this, and...oh..." Words left as he settled on her, hard and insistent through his pants.   
  
"Were you worried?" he asked, his nimble fingers on his belt.  
  
"Not really," she conceded. Cloud could take care of himself, and she'd learned—during the time they still rarely spoke of—to not sit up waiting worried for a phone call.  
  
"Miss me?"  
  
That was a stupid question. She snorted. "Cloud."  
  
"Show me," he whispered. Which was about as close to 'shut up' as Cloud was going to get with her. That probably should have annoyed her too, but with his hands and lips making the room spin, Tifa decided that she couldn't keep track of all the reasons she _should_ be mad, and instead reminded herself to be pissed at him later. For now she would just appreciate that he was finally home.


	4. No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy is an ugly emotion...

“You know, for a Turk, that Rude guy ain't half bad.” Booted feet placed on the tree stump in front of her, Yuffie extended her arms over her head, made a show of stretching the kinks out. “Something kinda dark and mysterious about him, with those sunglasses and bald head. It's sexy.” She tilted her head, eyeing Tifa. “And he has the hots for you.”  
  
Across from her, Tifa's small sound was noncommittal.   
  
“I can't believe we overheard that. So epic! And then, in the fight, he wouldn't even touch you! It's killer. We should send you to face the Turks every time. The redhead is a moron and baldy won't lay a finger on you, 'cause he _looooooves_ you.”  
  
Behind them, firewood hit the dirt.  
  
Yuffie tossed a quick look over her shoulder, smirked, and turned back to Tifa. “I have this thing for mysterious guys, y'know. Something so hot about them.”  
  
Doing her best to block out Yuffie's rambling, Tifa continued to fold and stow her gear into her satchel, careful to make sure she left the potions out to be put on top and the antidotes in the front pocket. Her spare gloves were also tucked in the front, and she needed to make room for her rations.   
  
“Just think about it,” Yuffie continued, despite Tifa's lack of participation. “It would be like some illicit love affair. Forbidden desires and all that. I can just imagine secret interludes and passionate, desperate embraces.” She gave a breathy sigh. “Two hearts, separated by cruel, cruel fate.”  
  
“That's enough, brat,” Barret grumbled, slamming his pack on the ground. “Yo, Cloud, easy on that ax. It's the only one we've got.”  
  
“What?” Yuffie was the picture of wide-eyed innocence. “It's not like she's _with_ anyone, right? Tifa's hot, and she should flaunt that shit. Heck, if the guys here are too stupid to do anything about it, it's obvious the Turks aren't.”  
  
Flustered, Tifa remained silent, continued to pack. She was used to Yuffie carrying on about something or other, it was a pretty routine occurrence and had been ever since the young girl had joined them, but this time it was about her, and the current topic made her...conscious...of certain things.   
  
Like how Cloud hadn't reacted to Rude's comments.

At all.   
  
In fact, Cloud hadn't even acknowledged her after their run-in, instead, walking ahead to keep a steadying hand on Aerith, and that alone was enough to remind Tifa that he hadn't touched her—not once—since the flower girl had joined them. And those heavy, heated glances he'd given her all those weeks ago had all but disappeared, and she felt that maybe—in his mind—she had too.   
  
Not that there was anything certain or guaranteed between them, she mused, tucking socks into her bag, but Tifa had thought that maybe, that there was, at least, _something_ there. But now, she felt uncertain, unsure, and completely inadequate.   
  
Pride was a fragile thing, she'd come to realize, and although she'd never considered herself beautiful, she hadn't been overtly aware of anything about herself that was _lacking_ either...until recently.  
  
But when compared to unmarred porcelain skin and perfectly coiled ringlets, her scarred surface and drab locks left a lot to be desired. In contrast to light green eyes that twinkled with flirty mischief, her own were the murky brown of bloodstained mud. She did not have slim hips that swayed gently beneath pastel pink cotton; no, hers were braced tight beneath battle scuffed leather. And where Aerith had gentle curves that hinted at femininity and secrets, Tifa's body was a proclamation of it, shouting out to all of sundry.  
  
She'd tried, honestly, not to tick off the comparisons, but it was no use. Every time sky blue locked on emerald green, she felt the cold knot of jealousy tighten in her gut, sending self-conscious fears skittering through her brain. The worst part was that she liked Aerith, she really did, and the other woman was good for Cloud. Tifa had seem him smile-- _smile_ \--around Aerith, and that made her take a step back and re-evaluate what was most important to her. The answer—the same as she expected—had been Cloud's happiness. So she removed herself as much as she could from their space and tried not to linger on the 'maybes'.   
  
But some part of her, some foolish, lost-in-that-promise, part of her had hoped that Cloud would balk. That he would _want_ her around him. But he had taken her distance without so much as a blink of those electric blues.   
  
And for the past few days, after fighting battle after battle, Tifa had started feeling more and more like a weathered toad, so she had to admit, hearing Rude—in that embarrassed, awkward way—admit he had a thing for her. Well, it felt good. It felt damn good.   
  
“You can stop all your blah-blahing over it, because Tifa ain't getting mixed up with no Turk!” Barret's voice drew her sharply from her thoughts.  
  
“Well, duh!” Yuffie shouted right back. “But what if he wasn't a Turk, huh? Cloud used to be a SOLDIER, and he's one of us. So what if he wasn't a Turk, what then, Tifa?” Yuffie's wide eyes were on her now. “Then maybe, right?”  
  
Someone who admired her? Wanted to be with her? “Yeah,” Tifa replied slowly, voice quiet. “Maybe.” She pulled the drawstring of her bag tight—probably tighter than it needed to be—and gave the rough canvas a pat. “All set. I'm gonna take patrol.” She ignored Barret's dumbfounded expression and Yuffie's triumphant look and grabbed her gloves. The prickling along her skin made her all too aware of the cold fire that now followed her, but she chose to ignore that too.  
  
On the outskirts of the clearing, Tifa thought she heard more shouting and Barret cussing. “Damn it, Cloud! I told you it was the only one we had--” But she didn't stop. She just kept walking, wondering what it would feel like to have the person you wanted want you back.   
  


* * *

Two hours was the limit for patrols. She knew that, but it didn't hasten her steps back any faster, even after nearly three. She had her PHS and they knew she wouldn't go far, so she was considerably surprised to see Cloud—dark scowl etched like stone on his handsome face—standing with his back braced against the base of a large tree as she approached.   
  
She glanced at her hip. No missed calls. So, no 'team' related issues. She killed the little flutter of hope in her chest that he might be waiting for _her_ ruthlessly. He couldn't possibly have known which direction she'd return to camp from, so chances were he wanted to be by himself. He had a penchant for doing that—wandering off and staring into space, a plethora of emotions swirling behind blue and Mako—so instead of angling her direction his way, she kept straight, intent on giving him his space.   
  
“You wouldn't.” Soft, his voice was edged with hostility, and that startled her into pausing.   
  
“Excuse me?” Half turned, over her shoulder, she tried to hide behind the fall of her hair.   
  
He pushed himself away from the tree, his strides long—purposeful. “You wouldn't be with _him_.” His hands, startlingly bare bracketed her arms, held her firm. “Under any circumstance. Ever.” Low, the words fairly thrummed with command.   
  
Confusion only lasted a fraction of a second, and Tifa quickly shook her head. “Of course not, Cloud. The Turks are our enemies, and nothing will change that—”  
  
“Or anyone else,” he growled, cutting her off, his eyes burning like blue fire in the shadows. Her blank look seemed to piss him off and between one breath and the next he had her shoved back against rough bark, his mouth fastened to hers.   
  
Blood singing through her system and pounding in her head, Tifa could only clutch helplessly at his forearms and struggle between breathless passion and infuriating confusion. _What the hell...?_   
  
Demanding, his body pressed into hers and his tongue slipped past teeth to stroke and plunder.   
  
This wasn't a kiss, her muddled brain acknowledged. This wasn't seduction. This was something darker, and she was trying—and failing—to keep her wits about her. “Cloud,” she tore her mouth away, breaths harsh in the chilling air. “What...what the hell are you doing?”  
  
His lips, those sinful lips that she'd fantasized about a hundred times, curved up at one corner, eyes swirling in a vast array of heat and sky. “I'd think that's pretty obvious.”   
  
“Wha—Oh!” Tifa was unprepared for him to close in on her, his palms flat to the tree as he pressed her back. The craggy surface abraded her skin and that unexpected insensitivity confused her further still.

He bent his head so his mouth played against hers when he all but growled, "You're mine."  
  
And she knew then, what this was. This was dominance. This was claim. This was jealousy.  
  
It wasn't affection. And she wanted no part of it.   
  
Using her strength, she shoved away from the tree, effectively throwing Cloud off balance. “Not like that,” she hissed. "I'm yours? Why? Because someone else wants me?” She shook her head. "I'm not yours," she whispered even as her heart called her a damn _liar._ "I'm not yours and you're not mine." She was proud of her ability to hold his gaze. 

Cloud frowned and the glowing green in his eyes diminished a bit and the cornflower blues of Nibleheim youth blinked at her in confusion. “But...I am?"  
  
It was moments like these, when it was like he was two people before her. One cocky and sure, the other hesitant and uncertain. "What?" She needed him to clarify. To be specific, because she just knew-- _knew--_ her heart couldn't take the break he would cause...and yet she wanted him. All of him.   
  
He moved to step back, but she caught his hand, and holding it she waited.  
  
He lifted his eyes to hers. “Yours." He stepped closer again, crowding her. This time she didn't push him away, instead tipping her head up, lips parting. 

"And you  _are_ mine," he added just before taking her silently offered kiss. 

She wanted to ask about Aerith, but his breath was hot against the side of her neck as he shoveled her hair aside, his teeth sharp. “Gods, Tifa...” he groaned.  “No one else. No one else.”  
  
She wasn't sure if that was command or declaration.  
  
But when he hauled her closer and dropped them to the ground she decided that she didn't much care.   
  
Because either way, it was the truth.  
  
No one else.


	5. Mandatory Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Crisis Core Antics

“What about 'sweater pillows'?”  
  
The woman standing at the front of the room, a Ms. Violette Johnson (whose unfortunately ironic name had not gone unnoticed) pushed her black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and gave a long-suffering sigh, her fourth in the past thirty minutes. Primly, she leveled the red-head leaning back in his seat a disapproving glare. “No. 'Sweater pillows' is not acceptable.”  
  
“Naw, I mean like as a compliment, y'know. Like: Wow, you have nice set of sweater pillows there. _Context_ and all.” Reno waved his hand in the air, his teeth flashing white.  
  
If the sharp snap of heel clacking tile was any indication, Mrs. Johnson was far less amused than the snickering companions behind the Turk.   
  
“I can assure you, that there is no _context_ in which _sweater pillows_ is an appropriate comment.”  
  
“But, wha—”  
  
“Ever.”  
  
“Okay, duly noted. You getting this down?” Reno turned to his bald partner, who was dutifully taking notes.  
  
Rude nodded, kept writing.   
  
Reno leaned across, peered at the paper. “You'd better write down 'torpedo tits' and 'boobtacular' in the _nooooooo_ column.”  
  
Another nod and another series of chuckles from the room.  
  
“Moving on.” Ms. Johnson dug into the briefcase on the table beside her and pulled out a thin blue book. As she did, she continued to speak. “We've covered some of the basic, assertive forms, of harassment, but we need to keep in mind that there's other forms as well. Such as, less directly, there's innuendo—”  
  
“Innuendo?” A voice from the back asked.  
  
Reno turned in his chair, one arm slung across its back as he explained, “Y'know, using words in a way that really means something else. Like when all them SOLDIER boys over there are comparing 'swords'?” he smirked.   
  
“Kiss my ass, Turk.” Several middle fingers shot up to echo the sentiment.  
  
“Aw, don't let him get to you. They're just jealous because their _rods_ are so puny.” Came another retort.  
  
Reno reached between his legs, groped and made a kissy face. “You can suck my rod.”  
  
Up front, Ms. Johnson simply spluttered, her wide-eyed gaze swinging to the man in the corner.   
  
Taking that as his cue, Angeal stepped forward, lifted a hand and immediately the room quieted. He gestured for her to continue.   
  
“Uhm, yes, thank you.” She glanced down at the book in her hand, took a breath. Smoothing an invisible flyaway piece of hair back into her tight coif, she cleared her throat and attempted to continue. “If you will take a look at your Shin-Ra Electric Employee Manual...page 16...you will see the basic outlines of what constitutes sexual harassment and some common scenarios.” When silence was all that greeted her statement, there was a flash of relief in her eyes.   
  
She waited until they opened their books, then,“Many times an employee may not even realized that the situations and occurrences that they are dealing with constitutes as harassment. Some of the most commonplace forms of this happen when a supervisor or someone in a position of greater authority uses that authority in an inappropriate manner.”  
  
Again, the room was quiet save for the scratching of pen to paper and the occasional dry cough. “Okay, good. Let's do some role-playing. No!” She immediately shot down Reno's waving hand with a glare.  
  
He pulled his arm back down, sullen.   
  
Scanning the room, she asked, “Any other volunteers? No? No one? I promise it won't be that bad. Hmmm, let me see...” She scanned the sign-in sheet, picked a name at random. “Fair. Zack Fair?”  
  
Chair legs scraped tile and in the back of the room Zack rose to his feet. His blue eyes sparkled and his grin was devilishly charming. “Sure.” He nodded and made his way to the front of the room. He flashed Angeal a quick look, always eager to do a good job in front of his mentor, before he took his place beside their instructor. “So, what do I do?”  
  
Mouth parted, Ms. Johnson simply stared.  
  
Zack rubbed the back of his neck. “Uhm, ma'am?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
His crooked smile revealed a dimple in his cheek. “What should I do?”  
  
Blink. “Oh. Oh, yes, uhm, here,” she thrust a copy of the manual into his hands. “We'll be acting out the scene on the bottom there.”  
  
“Okay, yeah, sure.” Zack skimmed the small box labeled: Sexual Harassment Role Play 12A. Satisfied he knew what to do, he set the book down and waited.  
  
Ms. Johnson gave the scenario to the rest of the classroom. “Mr. Fair here will be in a position of authority, and I will be one of his employees. This situation is one of the most common, and often most ignored, forms of harassment.” She turned to Zack. “Ready?”  
  
“Sure.” He cleared his throat, expression becoming serious. “Ms. Johnson, I'd like you to stay late tonight. There's some things I wish to discuss with you.”  
  
“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't. I have prior commitments.”  
  
Zack's scowl was disapproving. “Well, if you can't commit to your job, perhaps I should reconsider your position.”  
  
At this, she turned to the rest of the room. “Here, take note of how he is using his higher authoritative position to threaten mine.” Back to Zack. “I really can't, sir.”  
  
Improvising, Zack leaned forward, his eyes a deep, beguiling blue, his hand coming up to lightly touch her shoulder. “Well...what if I said _please_? Then would you stay with me?”  
  
The manual fluttered to the floor. “...”   
  
“Whoo-hoo! Go, Fair!” Reno stamped his feet on the ground, laughing. “It ain't harassment if she wants it!”  
  
Behind him, the door swung open and a man in red leather with eyes like sin and lips that provoked even wickeder thoughts strolled in, his half-lidded gaze coming to rest on the two in the front of the room. “Am I too late for the role-play?” he questioned, voice like rough velvet as he approached them. “That's too bad. I do so enjoy partaking in the experience.” He reached out, lifted Ms. Johnson's hand from it's place at her side, placed it—palm flush—to his lips. “It's always enlightening to bear witness to the schemes that the sinful ilk of men will perform when faced with such delicious temptation.”  
  
Her eyes went wide, then droopy, and her breath left in a long rush. Genesis gently nipped and she was a puddle on the floor.   
  
Dropping the limp hand still held in his own, Genesis turned to Angeal. “It appears class is over. So _now_ you have no excuse not to come training.”  
  
“You can be a real asshole,” Angeal told him.  
  
A shrug.  
  
“See that Ms. Johnson is properly taken care of,” Angeal told Zack. “The rest of you—fill out the evaluation forms and get back to your stations.”  
  
There were snickers and general ribbing as the room's occupants filed out.  
  
“You'd think by now they'd start sending men,” Angeal commented when they were alone.  
  
Genesis inclined his head, lips curved up. “And that'd make a difference how?”  
  
“Good point.”


	6. "Sex with the Bartender"

It started with _'Screwdrivers'_ and _'Costa Shooters'_ and somehow progressed to _'Sex with the Bartender'_ and _'A Mouthful of Sin'._  
  
It wasn't so much the names of the drinks that bothered him, as much as it was the way Tifa's mouth would curve up at the corner—ever so slightly—when he'd order his drink; his favorite being Sex with the Bartender. It was subtle, and just shy of cocky, the way her lips arched and her eyes smoldered and Cloud found his throat dry and pants tight and body burning from things that had nothing to do with the smooth slide of liquid.  
  
Not that he was much of a drinker. One drink when his deliveries were done to end the day. It announced him in for the night and told her—without words—that he was 'home'. She usually served him immediately, with a quick kiss, and a cheerful 'how was your day?', but tonight she was subtly different. Tonight, she was efficient and smiling, but the question wasn't what he expected.  
  
“Was it good for you?” Tifa asked, in a smoky, teasing lilt he had never heard her use before.  
  
The last of his drink caught in his throat and he coughed once. “What?”  
  
“The sex,” she wobbled his now empty glass between her fingertips. “Was it good?”  
  
Swallowing, he nodded, only once. “Yes.”  
  
“Good.” She leaned across the counter to give him his proper hello, the scooped neck of her shirt giving him a decent view of the firm curve of her breasts. This was still relatively new to them—being openly physical—but he was becoming more and more accustomed to it by the day.  
  
Her lips were light, barely there in their familiar chaste manner, but on them he tasted a hint of something...new.  
  
Curious, he leaned forward, sampled again. Deeper this time, smirking at her startled 'oomph' when his arms crossed the counter-top barrier and he pulled her clear over the top and into his lap. “What are you having?” he asked her, tongue tracing her lower lip.  
  
“Smooth Comfortable Screw,” she whispered, her eyes darkened to bitter chocolate.  
  
“Hnh?” He allowed his lips to brush up against hers, doing his best to ignore the jolt that sang through his body, straight to his groin and sent his balls into a chorus of 'gimme'. “Who names these things?”  
  
“Barret named that one,” she whispered, fingers threading through the longer strands of his hair. “It's good, but it's not my favorite.”  
  
“Oh?” Was that her other hand? Sliding along his chest? “What's your favorite?” he managed.  
  
Her smile was seduction itself. “I love the taste of a Mako Blowjob." She tossed him a saucy wink over her shoulder as she slipped off his lap to serve a new customer. As discreetly as he could, Cloud strategically maneuvered the drink menu from the bar onto his lap and counted to a thousand.


	7. Canoodle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word prompt: Canoodle

The newspaper hit the table with a violent _thwap!_ and a blond eyebrow arched at the muttered curse that followed.

"Problem?" Cloud asked, careful to keep his voice level.

Dark eyes glittered in warning. "Don't tell me you haven't seen it," Tifa replied with a huff.

He finished off his orange juice, set the glass aside and shrugged. "Sure, I saw it."

"And?" she prompted when he didn't offer anything more.

"And what?" Again his voice was calm, without inflection, but he could feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Apparently, Tifa could see it too, because her eyes snapped crimson sparks in a sea of dark chocolate. "This isn't funny, Cloud," she stated.

That, he thought ,as he stood and cleared his plate, was a matter of opinion. "It's not that bad," he commented.

"Not that bad?" Her voice rose an octave and she snatched up the paper, snapping it open. "'Legendary Planet Hero Tifa Lockhart, former member of AVALANCHE, is no stranger to scandal but in recent weeks a number of pictures have surfaced revealing her with former Wall Market slum lord Don Corneo, prompting fervor, outrage and interest among Edge locals. When asked if she had been a one time consort of the nefarious Don, Ms. Lockhart had no comment, but a source close to the ex-extremist confirms the images as authentic.'" She lowered the paper, peered at him over the headline. "Not that bad, huh?"

"You've weathered worse," Cloud replied, removing the article from her hands and tossing it aside. He circled his arms around her waist and pressed her temple with a light kiss.

"I suppose you're right," she sighed, leaning into him. "I mean it could be worse. They could have the pictures of _you_ conoodling with Don Corneo."

He stiffened abruptly; indignant. "I did not _canoodle_."

"Aw, c'mere you healthy lookin' girl," she teased him, doing a fairly accurate impersonation of the sleaze-ball Don as she nibbled his ear.

"Not funny." But even he was smiling as she led him from the kitchen.


	8. Home

It was strange to hear the shower running at this time of night. Strange...and yet achingly familiar, Tifa thought as she bent to pick up Cloud's discarded sweater-vest. The kids were asleep in their room, worn out from the day's events, and if she tried, she could almost imagine that Cloud had just come home late from deliveries, and that nothing had really changed.

_Almost._

The sight of scattered clothes—tossed carelessly onto the bedside chair, and onto the floor—caused her lips to arch up at the corners. Because then again, some things never changed. Cloud wasn't exactly the neat and orderly type. If she hadn't taken to picking up after him they'd have been buried in receipts, clothes and lug-nuts long ago.

Impulsively, she nestled her nose into the dark knit fabric and inhaled his lingering scent. Opening her eyes, she let out her breath, and folded the shirt over her arm. She picked up his trousers next, and, still half listening to the soft hum of the water through the walls, she brushed the woven cotton lightly with her fingers and mentally cataloged the places that she'd have to mend. The material, warm and familiar in her hands, was somehow heavier than she remembered.

Better to stay in the moment, she reminded herself, shaking off the encroaching doubts in her mind. She was always good at that; focusing on the now and what was needed of her. So, with an edge of purpose, she placed the clothes onto the chair in a neat pile before she adjusted her oversized tee-shirt and crouched to straighten the sturdy leather boots beneath.

The boots were well worn, scarred and stained, but they stood up well against the test of time. And in that way, they reminded her of Cloud. Absently, she turned one boot up in her hand, traced the rubber tread with her fingertips and was surprised when she felt a wide gap in material. _Odd._ She angled her head for a better look and studied the hole she found with troubled eyes. Questions of how, when, and what were immediately replaced with a certainty she'd rather not have felt.

 _Sephiroth_.

And the hole in the boot captured her thumb.

And the shadows of the room pressed on her.

* * *

The air was cool against Cloud's damp skin when he stepped from the bathroom. Not many things felt as good as this, he thought, one hand rubbing a small towel through the unruly spikes on his head while the other adjusted the ties of his sleep pants. Although he'd emerged from his dip in the never-after cleansed and healed, there was something fundamentally soothing about having a hot shower.

Quiet, he made his way to the bedroom, his bare feet silent on the hardwood. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he couldn't suppress the flare of relief he felt at that. He'd half expected to find it closed, and had he, he would have deserved it. But he should have known better. Tifa had never closed him out. He was the king of self-imposed isolation and she the tether that brought him home.

_Home._

He could call it that now. He _would_ call it that now.

With that thought in mind, he slipped into the room, closed the door behind him with a soft click, and stopped there. Tifa stood across from him, standing silent with a darkened expression above stiff shoulders, her hands working the leather of his boot. He watched, curious, as her nimble fingers traced the smooth outline of the hole that speared his boot.

He didn't need his enhanced senses to feel the dark that crept upon her, and his own hands flexed on terrycloth. "Tifa." Her name was a hoarse scratch on a raw throat and he wasn't sure she heard, but then her head came up and those dark, dark eyes shone with barely checked emotion.

"Through your foot," she murmured with a shake of her head. "He stabbed you through the foot. I mean what kind of...that's just... _who does that_?" And Cloud was taken aback.

He'd had much worse injuries. Survived much worse. She'd tended to much worse.

Yet here she was, in the dark of their room, shadows on more than her face, confronting him with his boot.

Solemn, steadily holding her gaze, he tossed the small towel onto the end of the bed and went to her with cautious steps. Purposeful, he reached out and removed the offending boot from her hands, dropping it to the floor. Then, still watching her troubled eyes, he slid his palms beneath hers, traced the softness of her hands with the pads of his fingertips as his thumbs brushed over the pulse in her wrists.

Her gaze stuttered, lashes lowering to conceal whatever it was she was feeling, and her breath was long.

Quietly, he told her, "I'm here."

Her face was veiled by the fall of her hair as she stared down at his feet. His unmarked, bare feet.

"Tifa..." Low and steady, his voice encouraged her to look at him. She didn't.

_Don't hide from me._

More hesitant than he had been in awhile, Cloud brushed her hair back, tucked the still damp strands behind her ear and cupped her face. A step forward, a breath apart and he lowered his forehead to hers. "Tifa."

She stood very still while the shadows of the room played over her face. And just when doubt began to creep across his skin and nestle into his heart, finally, she lifted her eyes to his. He searched her face, the depths of those velvet eyes and found himself grappling with what he saw there.

Hope.

Hurt.

Confusion.

Pain.

It was the pain that coiled him, the pain that sharpened his own eyes to electric blue, and the pain that softened his touch. He'd put that there. He knew it. Tried to deny it, but at the core of himself, he _knew_ it.

He tilted his head, ever so slightly, until his lips brushed hers, like a whisper.

Her fingers clenched over his hand and his name was a slow exhale. She sounded so tired. Bone weary. But she didn't pull away, and that was something. He held onto that. 

Cloud stroked the backs of his own fingers along her cheek before he lifted his head away from her. He watched her over his shoulder as he stepped around her, watched her as he walked to the bed, and watched her as he pulled the coverlet back. Her brows furrowed and creased above her nose, her expression wavering between anxious and confused. Cloud was unprepared for the sadness that look sent through him.

Swallowing, he eased down onto the bed and slid over to allow for her.

Her steps were less eager than he would have liked when she finally moved towards him, uncertainty evident on her too pale face. When she finally reached the mattress he held his hand up to her. Her own hands rose to curl over her heart, holding an invisible ache.

"Tifa," he turned his hand, palm up, beseeching. "Come lie with me. Please."

There was a tiny, brief moment of hesitation, shadows still swirling in her eyes, but then she blinked them away and reached out. His fingers closed around hers and he drew her down alongside of him, lowering them both until they lay face to face.

It had been so long since he'd been with her like this and he felt his pulse all the way to his toes. "Hey," he murmured; both greeting and apology.

"Hey," she answered back, whisper soft. Absent was her reassuring smile and her 'it's okay, Cloud', and he felt something akin to fear, only more desperate, reach in and clutch him. There was a space between them, both physical and more. Space that _he'd_ put there, and space he was determined to close.

His hand moved, rounded her hip like a tether. _Stay._

Her eyes flickered down but she didn't push him away.

Or pull him closer.

"I'm sorry," he said, fingers tightening marginally. 

She nodded. "I know."

Because she would know, he thought. In all the world no one knew him like Tifa did. Forever it seemed, she'd resided in his heart, and she'd been in his head—literally—and understood him—fractured pieces and all—better than he sometimes understood himself. But that knowledge did nothing to quell the guilt he felt, or his own worry now that he had pushed too hard and too far and she was now beyond his reach. He was scared, because she looked so defeated when they'd just _won._

Her silent withdrawal tore open something inside of him, cut him worse than Masamune ever had.

He'd taken for granted that she would be all right while he was gone. Tifa was always all right. Resilient and strong, she was the backbone of their ragtag crew and the glue that held his family together. As much as it pained him to think she'd be just fine without him, it was what he believed. What he'd _had_ to believe in order to walk away. But now he knew himself for the liar he was. She was no more okay with losing him than he would have been with losing her.

"Tifa, I..." He faltered, his words crowding his mouth and he swallowed the choking weight in his throat. Words were never his thing. They tangled around his tongue and made him feel clumsy and stupid. He sighed and it was heavy with the unspoken.

Beside him, Tifa stirred and her lashes fluttered against her cheek, but still she didn't touch him.

In the silence, rain trickled against the windows and the shadows sighed.

"I missed you," he said finally; heat coloring his face, his words.

She pressed her lips together. "I was here."

The soft words dug deep. "I know," he affirmed and allowed the hand on her hip to ease up her side, dip into her waist. Testing. "I'm sorry." He would repeat it every day a thousand times if he needed to. "Tifa...I never wanted to hurt you."

She nodded. "It's fine," she whispered. 

It wasn't fine. He had so many other things he wanted to say-- _needed_ her to know--but the words were once more trapped inside. He let out a breath, deciding that Tifa's advice was always the best advice, and words weren't the only way to convey his feelings. He allowed his arm to drape around her back, curling to bring her closer. Her palms rose up suddenly, braced against his shoulders and his skin heated, but he paused, uncertain as to whether her touch meant 'pull me closer' or 'stop'.

She seemed uncertain of that herself, but then she moved, and her hands slid up to twine around him and she was nestled against him, her face in the crook of his neck, her breath warm on his skin. Cloud pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes, his arms tightening and he knew it was probably too tight but he couldn't help it. 

_So close._

They'd come so close to happiness, and then drifted so far away. He'd lain awake those lonely nights, on that hard plank floor, and cursed fate, secretly hating the planet, and yet undeniably thankful for the time he'd had with her. Even as death encroached on his life, his dreams were his own, and in them there was always Tifa.

Always.

"I thought...I thought I'd lost you." Her voice was quiet, bogged with pain and unshed tears, and a thousand tiny needles. "I thought that maybe... it was my punishment."

Scratch needles. Her words were knives in his heart. He was unprepared for this, he thought. And when he could find his voice, he asked carefully, "Punishment for what?"

"For being selfish. For taking. For wanting...after all we did, after all the lives we cost, I still wanted happiness for myself. For us. Even if I didn't deserve it."

 _Tifa._ Cloud shook his head, caught somewhere between disbelief and sadness. How could she think that? Of all the people he'd known in his life, Tifa deserved happiness more than anyone. But he also knew she'd never be ready for it if she didn't let go of the past. The irony of _him_ thinking this wasn't lost on Cloud and he smirked. Teasing, in a way he hadn't done in a long time, he asked, "What makes you think spending the rest of your life stuck with me isn't your punishment?"

He felt the first hints of a smile against his skin. "Cloud," she reprimanded gently. 

"You didn't lose me," he reminded her with a gentle squeeze. "I'm right here." He placed her hand on his chest, over the steady drum of his heart.

 She lifted her head again, her eyes a shade of dark cinnamon. "But I did lose you. You were gone, and I was lost."

Reluctantly Cloud tried to put himself in her place and the stark, harsh emptiness he felt at just the _thought_ was enough to have him pulling her closer, lips against her temple. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It was inadequate, but it was all he had. He feathered his lips against her cheek, fingers threading into her hair as he shifted so that he could cradle her jaw between his palms. "I'm here now."

He skimmed her mouth with his, barely touching. Even in the dimness of the room, he could see faint color in her cheeks and she softened against him. "I'm here," he repeated, as much for himself as for her. He angled his head, kissed the corner of her mouth, licked away the flavor of toothpaste. Her startled little gasp made him smirk against her lips and when he lifted his head, he was pleased to see her answering smile. It wasn't in full bloom yet, he noted, but it was genuine and warmed the shadows out of her eyes.

She reached up, stroked his cheek. "Well, then...welcome home," she murmured. 

With a soft grunt he settled back against the pillows, rolling his shoulder so that she came with him, her head tucked beneath his chin, her hand over his heart.

"Good night, Tifa." He'd be damn sure he was there to say: Good morning.

 

* * *

 


	9. Phone Sex

It started on accident. An “I miss you” turned into “I love you” which, in turn, morphed into “I need you” and then into “I want” and “I want” became explicit and detailed.  
  
Breath hitched and pulse raced and Tifa had to ask—soft, not quite certain—for Cloud to repeat what he'd said.  
  
There had been a pause—a collection of heartbeats—and she'd feared that he would feel too exposed and that he'd brush it off, but when his voice came back on the line, it was still thick, and slightly firmer. “I said that I want to be with you. Inside of you.”  
  
“That's...” she swallowed. “That's what I thought you said.” Her hand fluttered above her hammering heart. “I want that, too,” she whispered. “I miss you when you're gone so long...” Feeling braver, she added, “I ache.”  
  
There was a rustling sound and then, “Tell me.”  
  
So she did.  
  
She told him the way she would daydream and how her breasts would feel heavy and full and how she'd dampen her underwear and how the thought of him made her touch herself.   
  
He'd listened, and given soft sounds of encouragement as she talked. Cloud wasn't much of a conversationalist, but he made sure she knew that he was paying attention. After a few minutes she dared to ask, “Cloud, are you touching yourself now?”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Tell me,” she had repeated his command.   
  
And to her delight, he had.   
  
It started there, that night, but it didn't end there. Now, long trips or deliveries were littered with late night phone calls. Sometimes, Tifa would wake up, his pillow beneath her chin, his scent on her skin and just dial.   
  
It was reflexive, and she felt guilty if he sounded sleepy, but more often than not he was awake...waiting.   
  
Tonight was no different.  
  
He answered on the first ring.  
  
“Cloud...” her voice was broken, breathless.   
  
She thought maybe he chuckled on the other end. “Started without me?”  
  
She flushed a bit, her fingers tracing delicate patterns against her slick skin. “Woke up wanting you,” she clarified.   
  
“Ah.” She heard him move—getting comfortable. “I stayed awake, wanting you.”  
  
“It's been too long,” she sighed into the mouthpiece.  
  
“Eight days, fifteen hours....sixteen minutes.”  
  
She laughed.   
  
“I miss the way you smell,” he murmured.  
  
Tifa could almost hear his blush. He still felt awkward, doing this, revealing himself with words, but he made the effort and that made her heart soar.   
  
“I miss the way you taste,” she whispered. “Have I ever told you that I love the feel of you, in my mouth?” She heard his quick intake of breath and smiled. “I do, because you're so expressive then. You make the most wonderful sounds.”  
  
He groaned.   
  
“Like that, only deeper. Needier. And then your hands will grab my hair, and I know you don't mean to but you can't help it, and I love that, too. That I can do that to you and you can't help yourself.”  
  
“Tifa.”  
  
“And that,” she told him, her fingers slipping as she lifted her hips. “Gods, the way you say my name.” She pressed against her clit, rolled her hips and gasped. “Cloud,” she breathed. “I need...”  
  
“Yeah,” his breath was rough on the other end. “Me too.”  
  
Arching her back, Tifa ground her palm against her damp center and made a sound that was part moan, part growl. “When will you be back?” she asked, panting.   
  
“I'm strongly considering heading home right now,” he told her on a groan.  
  
She laughed, breathy and soft onto the mouthpiece. “I want you here. Touching me. Your mouth on me.”  
  
“Tifa.” She heard his breath hitch and speed up.  
  
“Are you close?” she asked him.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Faster,” she breathed, slipping two fingers deep. “Take me faster.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“Hard and fast,” she gasped. “Cloud, oh, gods, I'm so close.”  
  
His response was a rough breath as he came, her name a rumble of sound and it brought her over. She clamped her thighs against her hand, bucking as she came.   
  
Slow, she returned to her senses, falling back against the pillows with a soft sound. “Cloud?” Silence. “Cloud?”  
  
“I'm on my way.” He hung up.  
  
Laughing, Tifa rolled her face into the pillows and decided to get some sleep. She had a feeling when Cloud got home there wouldn't be any rest for quite some time.


	10. Sharing is Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU one-shot where Cloud made SOLDIER and nothing went to hell in a handbasket.

She was always smiling.

That giddy, happy, "I'm in love with the world" smile. Every damn time he walked into their apartment and she was there, she was wearing it. It made him want to scream.  
  
At first it didn't bother him. It was refreshing to see, and he was happy for his roommate. He'd finally snagged the hometown girl of his dreams. Zack had been cheering for Cloud for two years before the guy actually confessed to his childhood neighbor on a visit back to his hometown.  
  
Zack had met Tifa once before that, on a Reactor visit in Nibleheim, and she'd been friendly enough. Charming, sweet, a bit nosy and a lot funny. He'd liked her, but at the time he couldn't say why his roommate was so head over heels. She was just another pretty face, and Zack Fair had a catalog of pretty faces under his belt—literally.  
  
But now, he could see why. Now, while she was standing in their kitchen, humming as she stirred batter for the birthday cake she was making Cloud, Zack got it. He studied her covertly from his recliner seat, from behind his book, and made note that her prettiness had blossomed into something substantial, and he knew from two days worth of banter that her humor was dry and quick. She was still nosy but less 'in your face' about it and more in the 'if you talk I will listen' way that made Zack want to spill his guts to her.  
  
He let his eyes wander when she bent to place the pan in the oven, and he admired the smooth curves the view offered. Cloud had told him that she taught martial arts in their village, and her long legs and toned arms gave silent testament of the fact. Upon hearing that little tidbit, Zack's initial question had been “Don't her boobs get in the way?” because the girl was stacked.  
  
Porno magazine, high-school fantasy stacked, and seemed completely oblivious to the fact. His question had earned him a sharp two fingered poke to the sternum and glacier eyed stares for the better part of a day. Sometimes Cloud was too sensitive, Zack mulled, absently rubbing the spot from memory.  
  
In the kitchen, Tifa stretched, arms over her head, and her tank top rode the smooth plains of her stomach. Good Gods above, if he didn't know better, he'd swear she was deliberately trying to drive him nuts. But unfortunately, he _did_ know better. Tifa, for all her looks and sensual appeal, was guileless and naïve, and so completely into Cloud that even his patented 'Fair Grin' achieved nothing more than an answering smile. No blush. No lowering lashes. No breathless little kissy face that _every other_ female on the planet did when he flashed his dimple.  
  
He flicked the page of his book angrily, his eyes narrowed on her as she piled the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Sensing his scrutiny, she turned her head. Over the top of his book he met her stare.  
  
“Wanna play a game?” she asked, suddenly.  
  
Zack blinked, blood rushing. He discreetly placed his book face down on his lap and cocked a brow at her. “What...uh, what kind of game?” he cleared his throat. _Smoooooth, Fair._  
  
“I like checkers,” she offered, striding into the living area.  
  
_Of course you do._ “Oh.” He sighed.   
  
“Unless that's too boring,” she commented, flopping back onto the couch. She curled one leg over the arm and leaned against the pillows. “Know of any fun games?”  
  
_Sweet Ifrit._ “I can think of a few,” he told her, and wasn't at all surprised by the huskiness of his voice.  
  
The sound of keys in the front door interrupted anything she may have said, and both turned to see Cloud pushing his way inside. “Hey,” he greeted, shutting the door with his heel.  
  
“Cloud!” And there was that damn smile again.  
  
“You're home early,” Zack said, and tried not to make it sound like an accusation.  
  
“Yeah, Angeal told me to take the day and enjoy it. Being my birthday and all,” Cloud shrugged his holster off, hung it up. “Something smells good.”  
  
“That would be your surprise cake,” Tifa laughed, rising from the couch with her natural grace and making her way to where Cloud was removing his boots.  
  
“You didn't have to,” he started, but she cut him off with her arms around his neck and a smiling kiss to his lips.  
  
“I know. I wanted to.” Then, another, softer kiss. “What do you want to do with your unexpected day off?”  
  
Zack watched Cloud's cheeks flush as his arms circled her waist. “I can think of a few things.”  
  
_I just bet you can._  
  
Tifa gave a breathy laugh that made Zack glad he hadn't removed the book from his lap. Hand in hand she and Cloud started down the hallway. “Rain-check on the games, okay, Zack?” she called over her shoulder.  
  
“Sure.” He gave a limp wave. As Cloud's bedroom door closed, he couldn't help but add, "You really need to learn how to share your girl, Cloud."


End file.
